What He Left Behind
by SlightlyMortalGirl
Summary: ' "Goodbye John" Sherlock said before jumping."SHERLOCK" John screamed.' After Sherlock supposedly died, this is what he left behind. One-Shot


_"Goodbye John" Sherlock said before jumping._

 _"SHERLOCK" John screamed._

. . .

Homeless network -

Sherlock needed our help. He needed to fake his death. He was going to jump off the side of Bart's. He wanted us to clear the street, move the 'pillow'. He needed to commit 'suicide' and tie up the story involving Moriarty's lie about Sherlock. And we would help. If it meant a step closer to getting off the streets, we had to help.

Sherlock had always helped us, now it was time to return the favour by helping him with a little issue of his.

Molly -

I will never forget John's face for as long as I live.

He walked to the funeral like a dying man, his skin crumpled like paper, as if the tiniest of movements would tear him. His clothes hung from his frame like dirty clothes over a scarecrow, and his eyes were glassy, and unfocused. He wouldn't believe it, not for a second. No matter how many people told him it was true, he just shook his head and looked at the grave like he was expecting Sherlock to jump right out of it.

I could release him from his pain, telling him that Sherlock faked his death, Sherlock made me swore to never tell a soul, but John seemed so heartbroken, so empty. I couldn't even look at him, and as awful as it is, I didn't want to.

The plan was intricately organised, there was no room for failure. It was planned in detail and moved as Sherlock described it as 'clockwork'. I did believe that someone smart enough would someday figure out what actually happened that afternoon. The street was cleared, it was almost to say 'something is happening over here'.

Preparations were made, conversations rehearsed, and then it was in action, and to my disbelief, and it ran smoothly. Until Moriarty pulled the trigger. That was not rehearsed, and caught all of us off guard. But Sherlock continued, just as we'd planned, and after minutes of John's pleas, he jumped.

The screams of 'SHERLOCK!' echoed around the street. Looking down to the ground, I got ready to shove the doll out of the window. My part was over. The rest was up to Sherlock and his homeless network. There were many ways that Sherlock could have faked his death; bungee jumping and then jumping through the window and then kissing me before walking out of the door in typical Sherlock style.

There are many ways it could have gone, but none of them could've prepared me for the guilt I would feel towards the ones he left behind.

Mary -

I never saw him jump, but seeing how he left John, I'm glad I didn't. The media portrayed Sherlock as a criminal and to begin with, I believed them. Why shouldn't I? I never met Sherlock Holmes, and it seemed to make sense to me. But then I met John.

Getting to know John and then how he knew Sherlock, my opinion shifted. He was only trying to defeat the villain. At least that's what John told me, and I completely believed him. Not because as time passed I grew increasingly fond of him, and I didn't want to think him a liar, but because I've never met anyone with a resolve as strong as John. He didn't think Sherlock was innocent, he knew it. And over time, I knew it too.

Lestrade -

Standing at a crime scene, Lestrade was trying to figure out what had happened. By now, Sherlock would have a few theories and already be looking in to one. He needed Sherlock's intellect. Lestrade tried to look at the crime scene with new eyes, believing it to be how Sherlock processed his thoughts on a new case.

Empty eyes of the mangled corpse stared back up at him. He sighed and ran a hand over his forehead.

 _You see you just don't observe._

His chest twisted in a sort of homesickness. He missed the sociopathic bastard, more than he let on. He missed his rude comments on his intellect, he missed the madman's deductions, and he missed his brilliant mind. They were stuck again, the evidence no doubt right before their eyes, but they didn't have the only one capable of pulling the loose ends together.

Everything might have been okay, his colleagues forced him into believing his friend was a criminal who murdered and kidnapped children.

If only Sherlock had not jumped off that bloody building.

Mycroft -

I wasn't surprised when he approached me with the idea.

His reputation had taken a blow that it wouldn't recover from without taking extreme measures, and then there was Moriarty. Something still had to be done about his extensive criminal web, and this seemed like the perfect solution.

Sherlock could leave London without much fuss and destroy Moriarty's spider web of criminals. If Sherlock left without a word, suspicion would arise, but if Sherlock were to die, then no one would worrying that Sherlock isn't in London. To add to this, Sherlock could not stay in London after his 'death'.

This was the perfect solution. The only question left, was how to pull it off.

Sherlock and I spent hours concocting the perfect plan, minute by minute plans with fail-safe to take care of any unplanned problems that could arise. But neither of us had prepared ourselves for how far Moriarty was willing to go.

Despite this slip up, it ran smoothly. Molly and the homeless network carried out their tasks perfectly, Sherlock got out of it relatively unharmed, and there was no evidence to prove him still alive.

It was now up to Sherlock to disappear and dismantle Moriarty's spider web.

Anderson –

I'd always hated Sherlock Holmes.

He was selfish, rude, and arrogant. There was nothing to like about him. And yet somehow, he had a friend. John Watson, who in my opinion, was even madder than Sherlock himself, if he was able to put up with him the way he did. Any for some reason Lestrade let him help us time and time again, like we weren't good enough to do it alone. Like we needed that psychopath to do it for us. I hated him.

I hated him even more for deceiving us as he did. Kidnapping a girl and helping us to find the culprit when he was actually the true culprit of the crime. And I guess it was my hatred that lead me to throw so much of the blame onto him.

I couldn't even feel bad when he jumped. In my mind, he was evil. He'd lied to us again and again, and made us look like idiots. I didn't care that he was dead, in fact as far as I was concerned, it was just another case solved, although this case was a lot bigger than any other we've ever encountered before.

But then I saw the article.

 _Sherlock Holmes proven innocent_

And that changed everything.

Realizing that Sherlock was actually telling the truth, why would he commit suicide?

Why would a famous detective let his reputation go up in flames?

Why did he not fight back?

And then I saw it.

A case solved in India.

Reading over the article, the leap between the culprit and the evidence was not possible.

There was only one explanation.

Sherlock Holmes had cheated death.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.

John -

He was dead. Sherlock Holmes, his friend had died. He had committed suicide. Moriarty had won the game. He covered his face with his hands.

He could have done something. He should have done something. He was so stupid. Why hadn't he gotten there faster? Why hadn't he figured it out more quickly? It was his fault.

He would have killed Moriarty to avenge Sherlock's death but he had shot himself in the head. If Moriarty did not kill himself, John would have killed him, not caring about the consequences. Sherlock was not around. But he'd lost even the power to do much. He was utterly useless.

He remembered the first night after it happened. He hadn't slept, he hadn't even cried, he'd gone home and lay on his bed, staring into the darkness feeling completely empty. He wondered if the world was still turning; he felt like he'd fallen off. He couldn't feel sad, and he couldn't wipe the image of his best friend laying there on the pavement, stone cold, and dead eyed.

He had no purpose in life. No adventure, no cases to solve. The only thing that was required of him was to go to work. Apart from that he was lonely, sad and slowly slipping into that black hole of depression.

John took a deep breath in and continued on with his life, without his best friend at his side.

Sherlock -

Looking back at London, as it disappeared of into the distance, was it all a mistake? Did he do the right thing? It was already too late to change.

He had one purpose, and one purpose alone, destroy Moriarty.

 ** _Authors note_**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed this one-shot!_**

 ** _Please review!_**


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